


A New Home, Paradise Found

by LLN3dseestheLight



Series: Maze Runners in Beacon Hills [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Slightly crack, Stiles Stilinski is Thomas (Maze Runner), The Maze Runner Spoilers, spoilers for season 1-3a Teen Wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLN3dseestheLight/pseuds/LLN3dseestheLight
Summary: After being recused by the FBI, after getting his memories back, Stiles decides that taking his Gladers back to Beacon Hills is the best and worst thing he could do for them. He was going to made a home for them and he wasn't going to let the werewolves, hunters, shitty ex-friends or a distrusting sheriff stop him.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Brenda (Maze Runner)/Derek Hale, Malia Tate/Minoh/Kira Yukimura, Newt (Maze Runner)/Stiles Stilinski, Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner), Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Maze Runners in Beacon Hills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743547
Comments: 29
Kudos: 399





	1. Prologue: Stiles As A Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just say there were girls in the maze-cause Alternate Reality/Universe stuff.  
> And if a Maze Runner character is not mention they just went home with their families. Cause I know I'm going for get someone.

Thomas rubbed— _No, wrong,_ _my name is Mieczyslaw Thomas Stilinski. I am called ‘Stiles’ by my friends— No, by the Pack._ Stiles thought, he rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. He looked around the pale tan walls of the barrack style room he was in, he sat on the bottom bed of one of the many bunk beds in the room. He watched as his Gladers interact with some of the people of the groups that were taken by WCKED. Some of them talked to a few FBI agents and medical doctors scattered throughout the room.

They were safe now. Truly safe. WCKED had been taken down by the FBI three weeks ago, Ava Paige and her henchman, Janson, had been caught and were in jail awaiting trial. Stiles didn’t have much hope that they would get what they deserved, which was a _taste_ of their _own_ medicine. To be put through what he had, what all the people they had experimented on, had been put through. Stiles knew they’d be lucky if the two severed more than a ten-year sentence and if the very, very, very generous payouts that the Rossum Corporation were giving the survivors were in Stiles’ opinion an important thing, that they wouldn’t be.

They were also lucky that said survivors were getting their memories back.

It was slow, but as the drugs, Stiles had been pumped full of for the last six months wore off, with the withdrawal came their memories. At least Stiles hoped what he remembered was real or else, he was insane…far more insane that what it took to survive the Maze and the Trials.

Because nobody expects _werewolves_! Werewolves were a thing! Like an actual thing that existed in the world! Only…no one was supposed to know that. Or about the other supernatural creatures or the asshole hunters that, you know, hunted them. But Stiles knew about them because of best friend— _No, wrong, Scott McCall was an asshole that worked with the enemy and couldn’t be trusted. Allison Argent was too easily led when overly emotional. Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd were cowards that ran away the first opportunity when things got too hard for them to deal with them. Isaac Layhe was a follower that couldn’t pick a leader. Jackson Whittemore was…a dick. And Lydia Martin reminded him far too much of Teresa for him to ever trust her._ _And Derek? Derek Hale was an attractive ball of grumpiness and anger issues that had tried to be a good Alpha. As for Peter Hale? The less said about him, the better, that was a bit of crazy Stiles didn’t want to remember at the moment. Then there was Alan Deaton, who was too cryptic to be helpful, keeping information to himself that could have saved people all so he could keep his precious balance._

Stiles pushed those thoughts away. He was looking at them through Thomas’ eyes, and while that did give Stiles a new perspective on what had happened in Beacon Hills, it wasn’t a fair one. Because Thomas’s life experiences were different from Stiles in a lot of ways. So, many ways. Thomas hadn’t lived through what had happened in Beacon Hills and couldn’t understand why Stiles had put up with all of Scott’s shit. Thomas didn’t understand why Stiles had done a lot of the things he did. Which was fair because Stiles didn’t get why— _Okay, you’ve got to stop referring to yourselves like you are two different people. Because if you slip up and say any of the stuff, you are thinking? You will find yourself in a white padded room, and that is the last thing you need right now._ Stiles thought, letting out a deep sigh, between the fingers he had laced over his mouth, pretty much to keep him from screaming with frustration.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” a male voice tinged with a light British accent came from the top bunk, the owner of said voice, grabbed the edge of the bunk beds’ metal slates and flipped over the side and sung into the cot next to Stiles. After he made himself comfortable, sitting so close that he was plaster against Stiles’ side, a couple more inches, and the guy would be in Stiles lap. Not that Stiles minded. If it were up to Stiles? The tall, lithe boy with wheat-colored hair and mischief filled deep chocolate-colored eyes was more than welcome to sit in Stiles lap if he wanted too.

Stiles knew just how lucky he was that this boy was even alive at all. He was just glad that the FBI had thought to bring EMT’s and had the nearest hospital on standby to wait for incoming wounded and that the E.R. doctors were the best in the Tri-State area. Yeah, about that. They had all been found in an underground compound. That lay under L.A. of all places, for six of the city blocks. It was a miracle that the FBI found them when they had or else Stiles, Newt, and Teresa would have died from the wounds they had received while within WCKED.

“Tommy, what’s wrong?” Newt asked, his pretty eyes shone with concern.

“Have you given any thought to what comes next?” Stiles asked.

Newt nodded, “Of course I have, we all have.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

Newt shrugged, looking at the ground, sighing, “I don’t bloody know, Tommy. That FBI Agent, McCall? He told me that my father is dead for something mafia-related and that my brother is in prison for counterfeiting money. I don’t remember them, Tommy. I don’t think I want too.” He glanced up, “Does that make me a bad person?”

Stiles shook his head, “No. A wise person once told me, ‘It doesn’t matter who we were; those people are gone and aren’t coming back. What matters is who we are now, and what we do here, that’s what matters.’” Stiles bumped his shoulder against Newt’s, making blond boy smile, “He was right, you know.”

Newt laughed softly, “Just like you to use my words against me.” When he stopped laughing, which was a shame because it was such a sweet sound, Stiles thought. Newt sighed, “Do you think there is a place for us out there somewhere?”

“Yes, Newt, there is,” Stiles said firmly.

Newt eyed Stiles knowingly, “You have an idea?”

“No.”

Newt sighed again, “Tommy, I know that look on your face. How much on a scale from one to ten. Am I not going to like whatever is brew in that brain of yours?”

“Ah, about a seventy-five.” Stiles said, “but otherwise, my idea is perfect. Just hear me out.”

“Okay, Tommy, tell me.”

“Well, I was thinking with all of the money that all of us are getting from Rossum Corp. Most of it won’t even be spent by our children’s grandchildren… I thought that we could pool like twenty percent collectively and buy a house big enough for all of us, some land, grow food, raise some animals… be self-sufficient. Finish our educations if we want too.” Stiles told him.

Newt’s eyes were wide when Stiles finished speaking, and he asked, “Tommy, how long have you thought about this?”

“Since I was recovering from a bullet wound to the stomach,” Stiles said flatly. He didn’t like to think about how close he came to dying, how close Newt came to death. So, Stiles had made himself plan for the future, even if it wasn’t one that Stiles would share with Newt or any of the Gladers. But to dwell on the past that he knew or the unknown future would have driven him crazy.

“Did you have a place in mind for this…paradise?” Newt asked.

“Yeah, my home town of Beacon Hills would be perfect actually, except for one thing.”

“And what’s that, Tommy?”

_How am I going to explain about the werewolves, hunters, and sentient tree stumps?_ Stiles wondered, then thought that the best way was plain and simple just to state it, and he did. Newt’s reaction was to start laughing, which if Stiles had been in Newt’s place. The response Stiles would have had… _No, no I had was in Newt’s place once had been, ‘cool, werewolves’ and ‘goddamn it, Scott, why?’_

Newt noticed that Stiles wasn’t laughing with him, “That was a joke, right, Tommy? Werewolves aren’t a thing, are they? Please tell me that it was a joke!”

Stiles sighed. If, no, when they got to Beacon Hills, Newt would realize quickly that werewolves are real. He stood up from the bed and started towards one of the FBI agents. He needed to talk to Agent Ass- he cut off that name, Agent McCall, he repeated to himself. If Stile was going to put his plan into action, he was going to need Agent McCall’s help.

“Tommy! It was a joke, right?”

Stiles kept walking. Newt would find out soon enough.

_“Tommy!”_


	2. Chapter One: Entering Beacon Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta for this chapter. My Grammarly is being weird.

It had been three months since they had been recused by the FBI from WCKED. It had been months filled with giving statements to agents about what had happened while they had been held captive by WCKED and experimented on by Ava Paige for reasons that still hadn’t become clear. There were also seen by medical doctors and therapists to make sure they were healthy enough physically and stable enough mentally to be let back out in society, which not all of them had been.

Stiles leaned his head against the window of the SUV, settling deeper into the seat, watching as the trees they passed became taller, thicker, and more abundant, as they got closer and closer to Beacon Hills. And the closer they got to his hometown his anxiety got worse, he’d broken out in a nervous sweat fifteen minutes ago and his hands just started shaking. This was either the best idea he’s ever had or the worst, Stiles wasn’t sure. He sighed and shifted in his seat again bring Stiles to the attention of the driver of the car,

“We’ll be there soon, Stiles.”

Stiles turned his head when Agent Rafael McCall had spoken. He looked older than Stiles remembered him to be, one would mistake the man for being Latino with his graying black hair and dark eyes and deeply tanned skin rather than fourth generation Irish-American. The FBI agent had been more helpful with Stiles and the other Gladers than he needed to be, but had taken a personal interest in the WCKED case because it had been Stiles— _No, wrong! It had been Thomas, Thomas that had done_ — sent out a message for help to the FBI. It had been what had ultimately had gotten Stiles- _No, Thomas_ \- sent to the Maze. It was with McCall’s dedication to taking down WCKED that Stiles and the others were free. Stiles wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Stiles was, or had once been his son’s friend?

Stiles returned his gaze back to looking out of the window in time to see the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign, it was weather-wore, the word ‘hills’ had been struck out with white paint and replaced with the word ‘hell’ in red paint. It picture of rolling hills green hills in a sunny valley had faded to a pale sickly off-green, it’s once yellow letters were now a light brown color, and where the information for the population was… the numbers had been struck out with red paint and wrote in black paint, and struck out again and again until the new number was at the bottom of the sign.

“Well, that’s a bloody cheery sight, isn’t it?” Newt muttered, darkly, from the seat behind Stiles.

“Greenie! Where the hell did you bring us?” Galley snarled, sitting in the back next to Newt. Stiles knew Galley’s expression was only boarding on his bitchface from the sound of his voice. Galley sounded more intrigued than angry.

“I’m too pretty too die!” the Korean boy whined, leaning past Galley, and smacking Stiles on the shoulder, “I just perfected my hair style regiment.” He ran a hand through his K-pop-boy band inspired hair, “Looking this good takes hard work, you know.”

“Slim it, Minho! No one wants to hear your whining,” Elena said. The Latina girl had shared the position of fourth in command with Galley in the Glade. Stiles didn’t need to look back to know she tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and her blue eyes were flashing with irritation at Minho, “Now trade spots with me. I wanna sit next to Galley.”

“No!” Minho said, “You just want up here to make out with him. And no one wants to see that!”

“Yeah, if I can’t make out with my boos, you don’t get to do so with your boy!” Mari grumbled from her spot next to Elena, “I don’t want to sit next to that slint-head,” the dark-skinned and eyed girl said.

“Hey!” Minho shouted, “I’m not that bad!”

“No one wants to hear about your boos,” Gally bitched, then to Minho, “And yes you are!”

“Then maybe you should have taken the car that Hilly and Clint rode in!” Elena snarled at Mari.

“Guys, maybe we should—” Newt started to say, ever the peace maker.

Stiles swung around in his seat, hitting the head rest, “SHUT UP! JUST FREAKING SHUT UP!!!” Everyone in the car fell silent at Stiles outburst. McCall glanced over at Stiles concern on his face but returned his attention to the road. Stiles dropped his head onto the seat in front of him, trying to slow his breathing, the last thing he needed was to had a panic attack.

“Tommy,” Newt said softly, “you okay?”

“I’m…fine, Newt.” Newt reached over and touched Stiles chin, forcing his head up in order to look at Newt. The worry in the blond boy’s eyes hurt to see. It hurt to know that Stiles was the cause of that look. Newt should never wear that look when it came to Stiles.

“You sure?” Newt asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said but could hear the shakiness in his voice, “Yeah, I’m fine,” he repeated in a firmer tone. Newt stared at him for a long moment before nodding, his fingers sliding slowly away from Stiles face, as he sat back into his seat. Stiles turned back around in his own seat, rubbing his hands over his face before staring back out the window. McCall reached over and turned on the radio,

“Oh! Turn that up, please,” Elena said. McCall did as she asked, “I love this song!”

‘ _Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise. Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised.’_

Stiles didn’t think a more fitting song could have embodied what he was feeling at the moment. He had talked to so many people in the last three months, had to keep it together for court statements and interviews with newspapers and TV shows. Stiles had even heard there were talks about a movie or mini-series in the works about what had happened to them. Stiles is so tired. He feels like he could sleep for weeks and it still would be enough. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it together before he lost what little poise he had left and decked someone.

_‘Already choking on my pride, so there’s no use crying about it. I’m heading straight for the castle. They wanna make me their queen.’_

Stiles knew he was going to have to swallow a lot of his pride in order to make a home in Beacon Hills for his Gladers. He was going to have to find out if Derek Hale was still the Alpha of Beacon Hills or if he turned that title over to Scott, after the younger boy became a True Alpha. Too many of Stiles’ Gladers were supernatural…somethings and whatever pack was in charge wasn’t going to be happy with the influx of a group of unknown supernatural beings in their territory. Stiles still wasn’t sure how he had become the defacto leader of the Gladers but he was and he vowed to protect them from everything, even Stiles past.

_‘If you wanna break these walls down, you’re gonna get bruised.’_

His past was something he worried about and the people he once known. Stiles would rather he didn’t make enemies of them but if pact actions were any indication of how Scott McCall and the other respond to threats he could imagine the welcoming Stiles and the Gladers would get… Stiles knew he wouldn’t walk away from his dealings with those he had once known unbruised.

‘ _That’s saying I shouldn’t be so mean, that I should keep my pretty mouth shut.’_

Stiles leaned his head back against the headrest with a sigh. He could almost hear Scott’s complains about how mean Stiles was being to them, how Stiles didn’t know what he was talking about… At some point in the future, Stiles was going to have to knock Scott of his throne, to claim a place here in Beacon Hills once more. Stiles was not looking forward to that— _Thomas was though, he was itching for the chance to bring that selfish wolf—Stop that, we aren’t doing anything to Scott unless he starts it, understand, Thomas?_

_Yes, fine! Stop talking to yourself, its weird._

_Your weird._

_That goes without saying, I think._

Stiles groaned, he needed to stop letting Thomas actually talk to him. Thomas was right, it was weird. Stiles noticed that the others were singing along to the song and he wondered how long they had been.

McCall leaned over, “It’s good to see them acting like normal teenagers.”

Stiles looked at McCall and had a hard time keeping the disbelieving look off his face, because there was nothing normal about any of them, as he muttered, “Yeah, _normal_.”


	3. Chapter Two: Haven

“Welcome to Haven, kids.” Agent McCall said as he stopped the SUV in front of an enormous two-story ranch-style house with large picture windows. The lawn leading up to the house was bright, healthy green, a stone path leading up to the wrap-around porch. In the driveway, sat an old blue jeep that had to have been at least twenty years old that looked like it had seen better days, next to it was an old fade purple Nova that was even older than the jeep but a few years. There was another slightly smaller one-story house set about sixty feet away from the main house, and just behind that was a red-painted weather-worn barn.

Galley lets out a low whistle as they all got out of the SUV, “Damn, Greenie, I hate to admit it, but you have good taste.”

Two more SUVs pulled up to a stop behind McCall’s. From out of one of the SUVs, a young woman with scarlet colored hair that barely touched her shoulder stumbled out of the back seat and onto the ground. Like she had been pushed, she narrowed her green eyes at the other girl that got out behind her,

“Why are you such a witch, Brenda!”

“I’m not a witch, Hilly, just forceful,” Brenda said, her dark eyes shining with amusement as she pushed her brown hair out of her face.

“Can you two please stop.” Aris Jones yawned, rubbing the sleep from his hazel eyes. “All you two have done is fight the whole trip,” he said, running a hand through his reddish-brown hair.

“How would you know? You slept the whole way here, Arry!” Hilly exclaimed.

“No, he only pretended to so he wouldn’t have to deal with the two of you.” A young man with spiky blonde hair said as he got out of the passengers’ side after Brenda, “It’s why he sat in the front seat.”

“You can’t prove that, Clint!” Aris muttered.

“Yes, I can,” Clint said, blinking his blue eyes from behind his glasses as he scratched at the start of a goatee on his chin, “You didn’t snore during the whole trip. And I know for a fact that you do from sharing a room with you!”

The third SUV wasn’t carrying only one passenger, Jorge. Mostly it had their luggage, what little they had, a laptop for each of the Glader that were inclined to use them. That being Stiles, Mari, Clint, and Aris. It also had a box of medical supplies and first aid kits you would typically find in an E.R. Clint was adamant that they have some. Some kitchen items things to cook with as wells some groceries. The FBI had gone beyond what they had to do to help set up the house for them, mostly by making sure that the big appliances worked and nothing was going to explode.

(Because explosions happened when the Gladers were involved. Though Stiles would maintain that the incident with the stove in the FBI’s cafeteria wasn’t their fault.)

Agent McCall walked over to talk to the other two agents that had been driving the other SUVs.

“Haven?” Newt said, “You named it _Haven_?”

“What else was I going to name it?” Stiles asked, “This place, Newt,” Stiles said, stepping closer to Newt, looking into his friend’s eyes, it’s going to be our paradise. Just like we talked about. You’ll see.”

Stiles then turned to Galley and said, “I spent two months researching a place for us. And this place is perfect! The house is big enough that we won’t trip over each other but not so large that we feel alone. There’s more than enough land for farming or rising any sort of animals we want too.” Stiles glanced over at McCall before he leaned towards Galley, “And if we happen to come across parts that could be used in rebuilding your still? Well, as long as we don’t sell it? I don’t think the local law-enforcement will care if you make up some of your special brews.” Stiles patted Galley on the arm only to quickly remove it when he glares down at Stiles’ hand then back up at Stiles’ face.

Once Agent McCall has finished his conversations with the other agents and walked over to the house, taking out a key.

“Let’s go take a look around,” Elena said, dragging Galley into the house after McCall unlocks and opens the door, he hands Stiles a small bag of keys on different key chains,

“I made you some copies of the front door key for you. Though you might have to make more if you think the others will be joining you.” McCall said he also handed Stiles a folder that he said had the security codes for the front gate and the house alarm system as well as the WIFI password.

“Thanks, Agent McCall,” Stiles said, sincerely. Because Stiles would not have been able to set anything up without the agent’s help.

Stiles trailed behind the others as they ran from room to room, the first floor had a restaurant-style kitchen that had almost made Frypan shed tears of joy, he would have no problems feeding them with what he had. A small laundry room next to a mudroom towards the back of the kitchen. The dining room was off to the left of the kitchen, with two long wooden tables and two matching benches on either side of them. Their living room was large with three sofas, four armchairs, and a throw pillow of all sorts of colors everywhere. An entertainment center with a television and sound system that took up one entire wall. There were a few rooms that could be turned in to offices or game rooms or a gym/sparing room/training room. Two half bathrooms, one on each side of the house. And one large room with empty bookcases build into three of the walls, and the fourth was a glassing glass door that leads out to the backyard.

The Gladers went up the stairs to the second floor and two fully furnished master bedrooms, (they found that all the bedrooms were) and that they had private bathrooms each, which the Gladers demanded that as their leaders Stiles and Newt take. And the other ten bedrooms, every two shared a full bath, and the group of teens/young adults chose their room.

“You could get lost in this place, Tommy,” Newt whispered in awe as he poked his head into one of the bedrooms.

“I’d find you!” Stiles blurted out, cringing as he did so. If he kept saying stupid things like that, Newt would think Stiles liked him or something. _We do like him, moron! And we want him to like us! Shut up, Thomas!_ Stiles hissed at the voice in his head. The thing was, Thomas wasn’t wrong. Stiles did want Newt to like them—him, “I’d always find you.” He just wished he could get the blonde boy to do so without sounding like a moron.

“Tommy,” Newt whispered, looking happy at Stiles words but then,

“Let’s play hide and go-seek!” Hilly yelled out from down the hall, breaking the tension that had been starting to build between Stiles and Newt. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to the redhead or not.

“GALLEY’S IT!” All the Gladers shouted and bolted away to find hiding spots.

“You guys suck.” Galley stated flatly, but put his hands over his eyes and began to count, “One. Two…Four…fifteen… twenty-six.”

Newt snickered at Galley’s counting and, “Come on,” Stiles whispered in Newt’s ear, “I know where we can hide.” He grabbed Newt by the wrist, all but dragged him out of the room and back downstairs, then outside onto the porch.

“Weren’t we supposed to hide in the house, Tommy?” Newt asked, in a tongue-in-cheek way.

“No,” Stiles said, leaning back against the rail of the porch facing Newt, “it’s called winning by default. Galley won’t think to look out here for us while he’s looking for the others.”

“Cheating,” Newt said, coming closer to Stiles until he stood so close Stiles could feel Newt’s breath against his face when Newt exhaled.

“Creative thinking,” Stiles said, stepping forward, leaning closer, his lips inches from Newt’s.

“Cheating.” Newt breathed out licking his lips, and Stiles couldn’t look away

“…Cheating, but only a little!” Stiles agreed, swaying forward.

“Hello, son.”

Stiles jerked away from Newt startled from the sound of a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. Stiles spun around, his eye went wide at the sight of a middle-aged man with graying blonde hair, more crows’ feet around his blue eyes than Stiles remembered. Leaning against a Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s car, dressed in a tan uniform was his,

_“Dad_?”


	4. A Son's Return

Two years. It had been two years since John Stilinski had seen his son. Two years since the night, the Hale and McCall Packs realized Stiles was missing. Two years of uneasy between the two werewolf packs because of it. It had been two days after everything went down with Jennifer Blake and the Alpha pack that Stiles had told him he was going over to Scott’s for a video game night. It had been a Saturday, so John hadn’t thought anything odd about it.

Stiles never arrived at Scott’s house. That was something John hadn’t found out until the next afternoon when Derek Hale came looking for Stiles. The older man had needed some help researching something he’d found in one of his uncle’s books about True Alpha’s and had come to Stiles. Scott had been with Allison Argent, had found out later. He hadn’t even remembered he and Stiles had made plans because Allison had called him and wanted to talk about him, her and Isaac going on a date together or something.

It wasn’t until one of John’s deputies had found Stiles’ jeep a block from the McCall house. The vehicle had been forced off the road. And into a tree, blood had been found on the driver’s side door. It was later confirmed to be Stiles’; it was like when he crashed, he hit his head, which was where the blood could have come from.

John stared at the house from inside his patrol car. He knew his son had bought it with the money awarded to him by Rossum Corp. and that he had brought many of the survivors of WCKED’s experimentations. Rafe McCall had been the one to call him when Stiles had been found. He had also been the one to tell him about what WCKED had done and that fact that Stiles didn’t even know he _was_ Stiles Stilinski, John’s son. McCall told him to stay away until Stiles’ memories came back that had been something John had did reluctantly. A few of the doctors that McCall put him in touch with said that the trauma that Stiles had suffered meeting John before Stiles was ready could overwhelm him and cause Stiles setbacks, but his son’s mental health was more important to him that want John wanted. So, John stayed away and watched every bit of news coverage he could once the story broke and damn it all if Stiles hadn’t been at the center of it all.

Stiles was toted as the brave young man that got a message out to the FBI that saved over four hundred people from captivity. The young man that had turned WCKED’s games against them and won. John knew that wasn’t true or at least not the whole truth. He watched as his son as the young man became the darling of the media with the British blonde boy, and the Korean boy was always by his side. It was only during the last few interviews that John could see that Stiles was holding on to his shit by a thread.

John took a deep breath, he didn’t want to be the reason that the thread broke, slowly he got out of his patrol car. Frowning as McCall made his way over to him, John leaned against the door once he closed it.

“Stilinski you were told—”

“He’s my son, Rafe!” John said through clenched teeth, “Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t be doing the same thing if our positions were reversed.”

McCall sighed, “You can’t be here, John. Stiles will contact you when he is ready. You know that. You were told this!”

“He’s come home, Rafe! How much more ready does he have to be?”

McCall ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Much like his son, Scott, did when frustrated, John thought with a little to no amusement. “He’s also created this wayward home for the survivors of WCKED. That should tell you something about how ready he is, John!”

Before John could say anything in his defense, the door to the house opened, Stiles and the blonde boy that was always with him in the interviews stumble out onto the porch giggling like five-year-old kids, Stiles had a hand wrapped around the blond kid's wrist dragging him behind Stiles. Neither boy noticed him or McCall or that they could hear the boy’s conversation.

“Weren’t we supposed to hide in the house, Tommy?” the blond boy asked, in a tongue-in-cheek way.

John knew why the blond had called him Tommy; it had been in all the interview that WCKED when they had wiped their test subjects’ memories, they were given new names based on great scientists, artists, or philosophers.

“No,” Stiles said, leaning back against the rail of the porch facing the other boy, “it’s called winning by default. Galley won’t think to look out here for us while he’s looking for the others.”

“Cheating,” the blond said, moving closer to Stiles.

The blond certainly had Stiles thought processed pegged though he sounded more amused by it that upset by the idea of whatever Stiles was cheating at.

“Creative thinking,” Stiles said, stepping forward, leaning closer, his lips inches from the other boy’s lips. John was left wondering just how close the two boys actually were? If one listened to social media, it was a sure thing that the two were lovers. Now John had an open mind about such things, he had to given to who he had married almost a year ago, but John really didn’t what to hear people speculating about his son’s love life.

“Cheating.” The blond said, licking his lips, and John noticed that his son couldn’t look away

“…Cheating, but only a little!” Stiles agreed, swaying forward.

“Hello, son.”

Stiles jerked away from the other boy, startled from the sound of John’s voice. Stiles spun around, and John thought Stiles looked older, more mature, and looked a great deal like his mother.

_“Dad_?”

At Stiles shocked exclamation, the blond boy next to him narrowed his eyes at John and pressed himself even closer to Stiles, though John didn’t see how that was possible, but that what the boy did and Stiles didn’t seem to mind. Suddenly a male shout of surprise from the house, followed by a female scream of laughter, then a loud crash that was followed by multiple voices yelled, “ _We’re okay_!”

Stiles sighed, turning to the blond, “Go inside. Make sure they aren’t going to cause something to blow up.” The blond rolled his eyes at Stiles, “Please, Newt?”

“Fine, Tommy, but you owe me,” Newt said, turning and walking into the house. Stiles’ eyes followed Newt as he went. Newt shouting, harshly, “What in the hell are you clunk-heads doing!”

“Nice to know that your taste for scary blondes remains the same,” John said with a smirk.

Stiles said nothing by focusing on John, asking in a dismissive tone, “Why are you here, Dad?”

That tone spurred John’s temper, McCall must have seen something on John’s face because the man stepped closer and said warningly, “John…”

John rounded on the man with a sharp, “No! I listened to you! And stayed away while the investigation was going on. I will not be kept in the dark where Stiles is concerned anymore, Rafe! The only reason I even found out that Stiles was coming back to Beacon Hills is that the clerks at the county office are a bunch of huge gossips!”

“I didn’t contact you because I didn’t remember you or Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, flat and cold.

“Yes, I was told about your memory issues and that you had gotten shot but were recovering and not much else that I didn’t learn from whatever new outlet you were giving an interview too!”

“He’s a legal adult now, John, he doesn’t have to tell you anything he doesn’t want too,” Rafe said.

“He was a _teenager_ when they took him, Rafe! I should have been contacted and been able to see you, Stiles!”

“Like I had any say in any of that, Dad. Take it up with the FBI. They kept us all on lockdown. They didn’t let us have any contact with the outside world during any of that. With the way, WCKED fucked up our memories, were we lucky we knew how to use forks for what they were supposed to be used for and not as weapons. Hell, half of us are still trying to figure out how social media works. WCKED took everything from us and replaced it with what they wanted. What could you have done if you had known I was sitting in a room being guarded by the FBI with no memories as to how the real world worked?” Stiles asked.

“I could have been there,” John said softly.

“Be here now,” Stiles said just as softly.

“What do you need from me?” John asked.

“Tell me about the supernatural situation in Beacon Hills.”


End file.
